Corpse Flower: Coda
by Helen1969
Summary: noun: coda; The concluding passage of a piece or movement, typically forming an addition to the basic structure. The concluding section of a dance, especially of a pas de deux or the finale of a ballet in which the dancers parade before the audience. A concluding event, remark, or section.
1. Selen

_noun: **coda**;_

_The concluding passage of a piece or movement, typically forming an addition to the basic structure._

_the concluding section of a dance, especially of a pas de deux or the finale of a ballet in which the dancers parade before the audience._

_a concluding event, remark, or section._

* * *

_Author's note: The original TV series this was loosely based on ended with a "curtain call" for each major (surviving) character, from minor to major, rather like an opera! Not so easy to pull off in print, I admit, but I will periodically post these pieces as and when they're ready!_

* * *

**_Tabito_**

By mid afternoon the little shop was usually empty. The lunchtime crowd had drifted back to work, and situated as it was on a little dusty side street, walk in trade later in the day tended to consist only of the odd local in the know who knew that for those struggling to make ends meet, the owner always had a bowl ready.

Today there were two dusty boys in their mid teens, slurping down the last dregs of their lunch from their bowls. Small parcels wrapped in brown paper and string lay on the floor next to each, a small swatch of brown fabric peeking through the corner of one parcel suggesting that it wasn't just ramen that the owner handed out, since the boys both wore clothing that was falling to pieces. That, at least, was the impression the visitor currently walking through the door had, as he watched the boys hand their bowls to a tall, auburn haired woman wearing a cream tunic and black pants, her hair held away from her face by a kerchief, then grab their parcels by the string and run past him, shouting out their thanks.

'I'll be with you in a moment!' The woman didn't look at him, concentrating on wiping down the recently vacated table. Tucking the cloth into the pocket of her tunic she looked up belatedly. 'Frank?'

Ra Frankenbach Leopard, Commander of Queen Promethium's Andromedan Battlefleet, took a seat near to the door but with his back to the wall. 'No rush. And whatever's on special today,' he added.

Selen made her way back behind the counter, placed a clean pot on the hotplate and began chopping whilst the water heated. 'Slumming, Frank?'

'Can't I see my nephews once in a while?'

She glanced over. He'd taken off his uniform cap and was running his fingers through his platinum hair. Not an unattractive man, but his pale blue eyes and naturally white hair tended to make him look much colder than he actually was. 'They're at school for another hour, but you knew that.' She tipped the contents of her chopping board into the pan and began adding several items from the fridge. She pointed her wooden spoon at him. 'You're welcome here, Frank. That uniform isn't.'

He shrugged, then slipped off his jacket, folded it precisely and placed it on the chair next to his seat. 'It seems on that particular score, we'll always disagree.'

She said nothing more whilst his food cooked, and in short order, she brought a bowl of steaming noodle soup to his table, along with chopsticks and a spoon. He held up his credit chit but she waved it away. 'Not for family. You know that.'

'How the hell you make a profit running this place I'll never know,' he replied with the faintest trace of a smile hovering around his thin mouth. 'But then again, when you're feeding all the waifs and strays in the area, I suspect this place runs at a loss.'

'I don't do this for the money,' she replied calmly. She closed the door and flicked the sign to "Closed - re-opening at six".

'I never understood why you did this,' he said after a mouthful. 'A princess of Lar Metal, running a run-down little fast food shop on a deadbeat planet in the middle of nowhere?'

'It didn't bother my sister,' Selen replied evenly. 'Why should it bother me? It's peaceful, and it puts me in a position to help people.'

He looked up at her from under a shock of silvery hair. 'And just maybe a convenient front?'

Selen flicked her cloth over the table next to his. 'I like it here.' She paused and stared down at him. 'Frank - what are you doing here? Haven't you caused enough trouble recently? Hannibal is not happy that he needed to send someone to get you to stand down against the Mazone...'

'Hannibal,' he replied bluntly, 'can kiss my ass. I had my orders.'

'Ah.' Selen sighed. 'Your orders. Always the good soldier, Frank?'

'I'm loyal to the throne,' he replied. 'Some of us don't buck the system, Selen. If you'd worked within it instead of rebelling, we wouldn't have gotten to the mess we're in now.'

'Yes we would,' she replied sadly. 'If not Yayoi, it would have been me. Our mother would have burned out everything we are and perpetuated the old regime if I'd tried it your way. And do you really think I'd have been any better than my sister as a queen? That I would have held out against the nibelung and their lies, their treachery?'

'We'll never know, will we?' he replied coldly. 'You didn't try.'

Selen sighed. 'And that's always been the main point of contention between us, hasn't it? You still believe you can make a difference from within the machine, and not be swallowed up by it?'

'I have to try,' he replied simply. He smiled as he placed his chopsticks next to his bowl. 'You can, however, cook. Thank you.' When she moved to take the bowl he placed a hand on hers. 'Selen. I'm sorry about Marin. Truly. Whatever arguments you, me and my brother had, your children were never part of it.'

'They are when you persist in following your orders, Frank. My sister's not who you think she is. Hasn't been for a very long time.'

'I know.' He said it so matter of factly, she wondered if she'd heard correctly at first. 'Selen - there's something very wrong in the Court. More than just the mechanisation process. We need to talk…'

She walked slowly to the counter, reached behind it and pulled out a dusty bottle, and two glasses, which she carried over to the table. She took the seat opposite, wiped the bottle down and then poured two generous measures, one of which she pushed across the table. 'Then talk...'


	2. Hannibal

_**Earth.**_

_**49°8742′N 11°1725′E**_

* * *

The white clouds of Mazone "snow" had passed over this part of the barren planet several hours before, and already the ground had absorbed this first pass of spores, which had sunk into the red, dry dusty earth with hardly a trace left on the surface to mark their landing. Winds whipped the black mist of the early morning into sturdy will-o-the-wisps, pooling and eddying in odd chaotic patterns.

Here and there in the tumbled landscape of this alien world, scarred and battered by the violent violation a century ago, traces of over two thousand years of civilisation could be seen. Over there a stretch of tarmac, uncovered by a strong dust-storm barely a week ago, and already weathering in the untamed winds. Over here a wall, the once white stone worn and pitted. Dead, brittle vines covered one side of it; a frail, carbonised rose crumbled into dust as a gloved hand touched it gently, and it blew away to join the dancing dust devils that plagued the rocky plain that had once been a plateau overlooking the town below.

The owner of that hand stood with his arm still outstretched, his features hidden behind the blank bronze faceplate of a Gaia Fleet helmet. Behind him stood the equally fragile remains of the small forest that had graced this area, turned to carbon in the same instant as the long-dead rose. The helmet attached to the collar of a black jacket, the silver symbols of a star and a crescent moon emblazoned over the left breast.

The thin air carried the sound of footsteps, the heavy tread of metal-soled space boots a dull thud on the hard ground. The watched allowed his arm to drop, but did not turn around.

'This was the rose garden…'

The watcher thumbed the control for his face plate and the brassy helmet retracted, to reveal silver hair that curled down to the top of the metal-rimmed collar. He turned to face the speaker, revealing a lined face partly hidden by a neatly trimmed beard. Hazel eyes with a slight epicanthic fold met the single wine-dark eye of the speaker, who flinched infinitesimally under that stern regard.

There was barely twelve years between the two men, but any onlooker would have been forgiven for thinking the number to be in excess of double that. The younger appeared to be in his mid thirties at most. The elder a well-preserved sixty. The younger was almost half a head taller than the elder, the elder was broader across the shoulders, but both men were long limbed, slim and handsome. The curve of the mouth was the same. The set of the nose. The same strong, stubborn chin.

'Nii-san?' The younger of the two didn't move towards the man he addressed. He stood about ten feet away, his collar length brown hair whipped around his face in the breeze to the point where he had to lift a gloved hand to brush it away from his face.

'Yama said you might make an appearance.' The older man stood with a casual indifference that didn't fool his younger brother for a moment. 'Albrecht…' He lifted one hand towards him. 'Dammit, little brother, after all this time have you nothing to say?'

'Last time we met I almost broke your jaw… I wasn't sure you'd even want to talk to me…' The speaker was uncharacteristically awkward, and didn't meet his older brother's firm gaze.

'Depends. Are you planning on being an idiot again?'

'Ffffht. I don't think I have anything left for us to fight over…' He took a tentative step forwards. 'I thought you were dead, until I spoke to Yama. Even then, I didn't know if I wanted to come down… but I was drawn…' He traced the broken wall at his side with one finger. Swallowed hard. 'I never came back…'

'I did. After everything settled down. But there were no landmarks… it was impossible to tell where I was flying. The sky was still full of dust so I couldn't even use the stars at night. In the end… I didn't stay. I'm not even sure I knew what I was looking for. A sign. A trace. Some proof that they'd lived here… died here…'

'Mamoru…'

'The dust's cleared? Did you know? I managed to locate Polaris. Brought back memories of father teaching me how to navigate. Before you were born. I managed to find what was left of Bayreuth. If you look through the rubble, you can find parts of the festspielhaus… I proposed to Miri in the interval of Götterdämmerung…'

Harlock snorted. 'I'd have figured you more for a more romantic opera than the end of the world…'

'Sayeth the man whose favourite part was Siegmund's "fuck you" to the gods?'

'And yet here we are anyway… I doubt even Wagner could have predicted this.' He gestured at the blasted landscape.

'Little brother - no-one could have seen you coming…' Mamoru said drily. Harlock flinched. For a long, drawn out minute neither spoke.

It was Harlock who broke the uncomfortable silence. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered the words hoarsely as though they had to be torn from his throat. 'I screwed up, and in the end you were right.'

Mamoru stared at him, and it was Harlock who broke their stare first, dropping his head and turning aside to stare at the dust devils playing around his long black boots.

'Albrecht…'

Harlock raised his head again, still not quite meeting his brother's implacable gaze. 'You're still mad at me.'

'I…'

'You're using my given name. You only ever do that when you're pissed.'

'I also use it when I can see you're hurting, you dope. You always hid behind other names - from when you were a teenager and realised how it really pissed dad off to throw the names he gave you in his face. The trouble is you never understood that no matter what name you use, or get others to call you, you can't change who you are.' He took a step forward, and lifted his hand to place it on his brother's arm, before drawing it back with a wry laugh. 'I forgot… you're insubstantial now…'

'Unlike my sins, which appear to be very much the opposite…' Harlock replied softly, looking around, an expression of indescribable sorrow on his face. The anguish in his visible eye was almost tangible. 'I know I don't deserve your forgiveness…'

'No.'

The flat tone made him flinch again.

'Nothing can bring them back, little brother. There were days I wished I'd died with them. With Miri... ' he smiled sadly at an old memory. 'But she wouldn't have wanted me to wallow in that grief, nor would she have wanted me to hate you. And Albrecht - no matter what you might think, I _never _hated you.'

'Don't…'

'Don't what? It's not pity talking. I love you. I always had. You're my brother, and I should have been there for you.'

'You were saving my wife and children, when I was killing yours. The irony just doesn't stop, does it?' Harlock asked bleakly. 'I came within a heartbeat of killing you for that as well, later. And I hated myself for it, after. It drove me for years - if I could take it all back, make it never have happened… and it took a wet behind the ears kid to show me another way.' His laugh was bitter. 'That… and a tiny white flower…'

They both looked across at a small patch of those flowers, bobbing and dancing in the breeze, proudly defiant of the dim light and the cold dusty wind. 'Such a fragile hope…' Harlock whispered.

'Maybe not so fragile,' Mamoru said quietly. 'I take it you know of the agreement Yama made?'

'Hand the planet over to aliens?' Harlock snorted and shook his head. 'Well, it's ballsy. And it's not as though we humans made such a great job of managing it.'

'Not aliens. They came from here… And they can mend it, eventually. It won't be what it was - nothing will. But it will be green again, and clean of the dark matter. They can even restore some of the lifeforms we lost.'

'Pick up and start again?'

'From where we _land_, Albrecht, not from where we were before we fall. It took you a long time to accept that.'

'You were always the more optimistic of the two of us,' Harlock said softly. 'I destroyed everything you held dear, and Tochiro, and lost all hope. You went on with your life, and protected the family _I_ should have cared for... ' He huffed, and the breath hung in the cold air briefly before being whisked away. 'I had more in common with that asshole Isora than I'd have liked to admit…'

'Good job the kid's got a sensible head on his shoulders.'

'Took him long enough to pull it out of his ass,' Harlock retorted.

'Didn't take him a hundred years…'

'Ouch.' They exchanged wry, knowing smiles.

Mamoru sucked in a deep breath, and let it out again hard. 'Maya… she never stopped loving you, for the record. God knows why - you never deserved her.'

'I know. Too late to do any good… When…?'

'Sixty five years ago, next month. She'd been dead-heading roses in the garden, and sat down in her chair. She said she was feeling tired, so I went to get her a drink. When I came back from the kitchen, she'd slipped away.'

'Nii-san…'

Mamoru smiled sadly. 'We were together for longer than Miri and I had… like you say, the irony doesn't stop. I miss them both, but I refuse to live a day regretting loving either of them. Her funeral was attended by our children and over a dozen grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. It might not be the life of a great space pirate, but it was a good life…'

'And when exactly did you start dying your hair silver?' Harlock gestured at his brother's silver locks. 'Your roots are showing…'

Mamoru debated briefly calling him out on the evasion, then sighed. It was never worth it… 'When it was obvious I wasn't ageing at the same rate. Afterwards… it was just easier to let people underestimate the "old man".'

'Hannibal, huh? I heard about that kerfuffle on Lar Metal. Never figured you for a revolutionary…'

'Depends on the revolution.' Mamoru placed a hand again on the worn stone wall. 'I spoke to the new Mazone queen. I thought you might like to know - they have cuttings… those wild dog-roses Maya loved? And those red teas that Miranda adored… I asked them if they could spare a guardian to place them here. Protect them…'

He walked a few paces away, forcing Harlock to follow in his wake, their footsteps stirring up the dust as they walked. Mamoru stopped beside a small cairn that had been placed next to a sheltering stretch of the old castle wall. 'Here.'

Two small twigs, with tiny green buds on their length, nested in the shelter of the old wall. One gnarled and covered in tiny spines, the other smooth and sporting three thick triangular thorns.

'It's a small thing in the grand scale of the restoration…' Mamoru began. 'An indulgence, maybe…'

Harlock swallowed hard. The instinctive gesture to place a hand on his brother's shoulder was irresistible, even though he was braced for the inevitable sorrow of his hand passing through…

… His hand met the firm body under the leather jacket harder than he'd have intended, expecting as he had that his hand would pass straight through. Mamoru staggered briefly, not expecting the blow. 'Sorry…'

'Baka.' Mamoru stared up into his brother's contrite but still - even after all these years - young, proud and all too beautiful face. Then without another word threw his arms around him and hugged him close. 'I missed you. Next time - don't be such a stiff-necked, proud, stubborn pain in the arse, will you?'

'I love you too…' Harlock replied drily once he got his breath back. But he made no attempt to pull free of the embrace, and held his brother close.

Seconds later the dark wind blew away the black wisps of dark matter that whirled in the space between Mamoru's arms and his body.

He fell to the ground, his hands planted palms down on either side of the small roses, his body wracked by sobs as he watered them with his tears.


End file.
